Treading Soft and Lightly
by CrookedSpoon
Summary: Series of unrelated ficlets under 500 words. Various, characters, pairings or genres. Prepare for the worst. Rated T for safety.
1. Warflower

**Characters**: Temari  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 450  
><strong>Warnings<strong>: possible spoilers for chapters preceding 567  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: Standard disclaimers apply. No own, no profit, no sue.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Written on Dec 24, 2011 for Round #45 at the LJ community prompt-in-a-box.

* * *

><p>Survival is not so much a skill as it's a necessity. You stay alive, because you have to, as long as you can. If she were a believer, she'd say luck was the main ingredient. But she's not – it's unfair to say her fallen comrades were unlucky, as far as you could talk about fairness in this world; it would belittle their sacrifice. And the enemy's power as well.<p>

As much as she hates to admit it, they're up against an overwhelming force. If they had less or weaker shinobi on their side, the war might have already been lost, her loved ones dead or dying and the ninja world under control of one Uchiha Madara.

She considers all this possible and has no hopes for any outcome she might like. She prefers it's with her skin intact and with her brothers and allies left alive. She prefers it, but expects the worst, or nothing at all.

It's what you do on the battlefield, you blossom in the void of thought, whether facing a horde of man-eating shape-shifters that may just wear the skin of a trusted friend, or one lone fighter with both offense and defense impenetrable and absolute: you empty your heart to all that was and all that will come. You can mourn later, at the end of the day, when dragging the bodies (or what's left of them) from the frontlines, hoping to save someone so they can die at a later date, somewhere else, from other causes; you can mourn when the war is over, should you survive to see the end.

It's all a matter of usefulness – as long as you're alive and able to fight for the Great Ninja Alliance, saving you is worth the risk of sending someone weaker into a potential line of enemy fire. See, your strength decides how expendable you are.

It's what Gaara told her once, "you're of no use to me dead." It sounded heartless, but the truth doesn't care for appearances. She has no illusions about his meaning. What he needs are strong shinobi able to fight unimpeded by the baggage of thought. (She could only hope to find another layer between those words, because Gaara can't decipher feelings, so how could he know about his actual needs, if times were different...)

These are times when hope doesn't fit the requirements of survival, when neither luck nor overthinking can save your skin. Call it unfair, but it's how they were raised: emotionless like tools and sharp as a sickle. They were born for this life – not to care, but to kill – and whether intended or not, they would die for it, too.

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading!<p>

The next five drabbles are older ones included for the sake of completion. After that, there will only be updates when the Muse is gracious.


	2. A Song of Love and Death

**Characters**: Gaara, Kankurou  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 250  
><strong>Warnings<strong>: implied character death, somewhat AUish  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: Standard disclaimers apply. No own, no profit, no sue.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Written on Dec 20, 2011 with the song Gloomy Sunday by Rezso Seress in mind.

* * *

><p>Kankurou feeds his broken heart to the piano, note by aching note. A fist constricts Gaara's own bleeding one, another clenches his throat. He is heavy, sinking, drowning, unable to breathe and Kankurou's fingertips drive the sorrow deep-deep-deeper into him, connects them with the mournful tune, swaying into it, swaying under the weight.<p>

He appears as though he's drunk, a vessel for the dirge, he lets the song consume him, because he cannot bear (to stop or look, or to accept the pain); he'll play until all feeling's gone, in both fingertips and heart. He'll play to drain what's left of him.

Grief cannot be severed, the roots cast nets around his veins, and Gaara feels them shoot when his eyes touch upon her sunless hair. A dry-bled heart leeches color from the skin, cheeks, lips and even bruises. The cuts no longer ooze.

Painted nails press into cold-cold skin and he rests his forehead on hands that cannot feel his warmth. He's six years old again, aching and unloved. Already, walls crumble into a hole that rips deeper trenches than what Shuukaku left behind, a gaping emptiness that nothing fills.

It's so unreal, the bleakness that follows in a lament's shadow. He has yet to go insane, he thinks, he's waiting and there's no one to stop him beside Kankurou, who walks the edge himself, treading from key to key, as though melody alone keeps the seams from bursting.

It probably does. His heart, though, it can't piece back together.

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading!<p> 


	3. Research

**Characters**: Naruto, Jiraiya  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 100  
><strong>Warnings<strong>: none in particular, mentions of Jiraiya's books  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: Standard disclaimers apply. No own, no profit, no sue.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Written on Dec 15, 2008.

* * *

><p>"I don't <em>believe<em> it." Naruto scrunched up his nose.

Once again, that perverted Hermit had run off to ogle half-naked women. Or "gather source material" as he likes to call it. As if researching for books only perverted adults read was more important than training him!

Naruto thought the old man had dragged him along to teach him all of his cool jutsu, not to leave him alone most of the time.

"Kyaa!"

Apparently, his so-called mentor was useless when it came to covert missions. Naruto wondered whether relying on that man's guidance was such a good idea after all.

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading!<p> 


	4. Sparks

**Characters**: Sasuke/Suigetsu  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG-13  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 100  
><strong>Warnings<strong>: slash, possible OOCness  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: Standard disclaimers apply. No own, no profit, no sue.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Written on Sep 08, 2008.

* * *

><p>Dealing with loudmouths like Suigetsu was hard. Reining them in was harder still. But Sasuke had his methods.<p>

Although Suigetsu was susceptible to lightning-based jutsu, he seemed to find a minute flow of electricity quite pleasurable. Playing with fire, as he called it.

Sasuke himself enjoyed the older man's delectable twitches, clenching a jaw that could snap his forearm with ease, rupturing the skin at his neck. Painful but delicious, those pointy teeth were, different from the burning sting Orochimaru's fangs had left.

Another jolt and Suigetsu yelped, a sound Sasuke deemed his most favorite out of that unruly mouth.

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading!<p> 


	5. Obstacle

**Characters**: Kiba/Neji  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 100  
><strong>Warnings<strong>: slash  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: Standard disclaimers apply. No own, no profit, no sue.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Written on Aug 19, 2008.

* * *

><p>One careless step - blades of grass shivered - and he found a kunai pressed to his throat almost instantly, cold and dangerous like the boy attempting to glare him into submission. Kiba should've known spying on Hinata bathing comprised many dangers.<p>

"Your way to Hinata goes past me. If you want a piece of her, you will have to take me on first," Neji growled, his voice laced with a foreboding promise of pain.

Kiba flicked his tongue over his canine teeth, an obscene grin tugging at the edges of his mouth. Certainly smelled interesting. "That a threat or an invitation?"

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading!<p> 


	6. The Prodigy's Fall

**Characters**: Zetsu about Itachi and Sasuke  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 323  
><strong>Warnings<strong>: Zetsu being Zetsu, spoilers for 394, crack  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: Standard disclaimers apply. No own, no profit, no sue.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Written on Mar 23, 2008.

* * *

><p><em>Thud.<em>An eerie silence spread over the forest as the battle in front of them concluded with the fall of the defeated; the crackling fires, hissing snakes and rustling leaves only heightened the oppressing sensation. Their mind was still overloaded with keeping track of the blows delivered and jutsu performed at lightning speed, adding the impressions to their long-term memory as detailed as possible for later verbatim report.

A pattering, single scattered drops at first, mingling with the exisiting concoction of noise, announced the rain, before they felt it cool on their skin. The steady downpour dispelled the stench of blood and smoke, as if trying to wash away the evidence of the clash between enemies, shinobi, brothers; trying to erode the debris of the former Uchiha hideout, what it had stood for and what it would tell future generations.

Itachi had fallen. _That_Uchiha Itachi, who had murdered his own clan in cold blood together with Madara; who had left his brother alive even all those years after the massacre... just to fail at claiming his brother's eyes as his?

Itachi couldn't be dead.

Something was off. His movements during the fight had been sluggish, if only to the trained eye that knew what to look for in the Uchiha prodigy. The blood he coughed up only added to the suspicious image of Itachi's last movements. It was as if he had been fighting someone else shortly before his encounter with the younger Uchiha.

So what we saw was the effect of using the Sharingan too much?

No, that was not quite it. Itachi had surely been fatigued whenever he had used the Mangekyou in the past, though the consequences had never been as violent as what had taken place before their eyes.

Zetsu continued arguing with himself, watching Sasuke collapse next to his brother and idly wondered wether, in case they were undoubtedly dead, it would be okay to eat them.

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading!<p> 


	7. The Traces He Left

**Characters**: Kurenai  
><strong>Rating<strong>: G  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 100  
><strong>Warnings<strong>: none  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: Standard disclaimers apply. No own, no profit, no sue.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Written on Dec 29, 2009.

* * *

><p>She gathers earth around the seedlings, a small protective coat for their delicate root bales, then wipes the sweat off her brows, watching clouds roll by. Since her agility decreased, her illusions weakened, working in the garden has become her daily exercise.<p>

Often, she forgets to eat when she's out here, the peacefulness of nature absorbs her, until a twitch in her belly or a well-meaning student reminds her she has more than her life to care for.

And it's true: she devotes herself to growing new life now, instead of mourning over lost ones – a dedication to his memory.

* * *

><p>Seems like I found another old drabble. After today, updates will occur when I have written something new, which can also mean never. Just letting you know.<p>

Thanks for reading!


End file.
